


Housemates is a tenuous term...

by Ninjaninaiii



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Backstory, Cambridge AU, Hella, M/M, Science Husbands, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Teenage AU, abuse of google translate, actual man children, also german swearing, because i mean aus man, because they're children, becuase german, but then they make up for it with sex jokes, down it freshers, insinuated suicide attempt, oh shit yeah like trigger warnings okay, oh yeah and there's some intoxication, shhhh, the timeline's like really shot, they're both pretty lacking in confidence tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninjaninaiii/pseuds/Ninjaninaiii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt's nearly killed the last housemates he's been given, mostly because of accidents that were totally not his fault. Mostly. So who better to give him to look after than the one person who he never stops shouting at? Hermann is not at all pleased with this development. Having to live with your enemy is one thing, but living with your crush is totally different. Damn it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Housemates is a tenuous term...

**Author's Note:**

> Yo this is my first fanfic on Ao3 and it is dedicated to the most wonderful artist and cosplayer, Kelly, whose ideas are the main driving force in this fic. Also I want to apologize for the German. I did study German. We didn't learn swearwords. I'm sorry for murdering the language. Sorry. Also want to thank graeliwil because really without her input I couldn't have written the fic.

When Hermann finds Newt, bloody nosed and unconscious on the floor of their lab, his heart and stomach drop a thousand miles. The damned man had drifted. Alone. Newton had drifted alone. Alone, alone, alo- no, not even alone, with a kaiju. No, not even, that would be wishful thinking. A damned Kaiju should be bad enough for the man but to make it worse, as Newton so enthusiastically did at every opportunity, he’d drifted with the hacked-off frontal lobe of a semi-dead Kaiju brain that was being kept alive in an oversized fishbowl despite being pickled and dissected and goodness know what else-

Before he knew it, his cane had followed his internal organs to the floor and he was shaking the man conscious. He’d removed the practically taped-together instrument attached to Newt’s head, bridal lifted him to the closest chair and was shoving a glass of water in the man’s horrifically shaky hand before half-hobbling, half-sprinting down the corridor to where Pentecost and Henson (Sr.) were observing the Mori/Becket experiment.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid-_

 

Didn’t he understand?

Didn’t he think?

_Didn’t he remember?_

 

Of course he didn’t, he was Dr. Newton Geiszler; world-renown ignorer-and-forgetter and of the most imbecilic mind and he’d drifted alone- and he’d left him alone and- stupid, stupid, stupid, Hermann, bloody stupid. 

-

 

“GEISZLER,” Hermann had hissed. Of course it would have been Newton goddamned Geiszler. He’d been informed that due to housing cutbacks, he would have to share his even now, currently cramped house. He really shouldn’t have expected any less. Because they’d ‘hit it off straight away!’ and ‘intellectually stimulated with one another!’ and ‘did that whole nerdy banter-y thing’. 

No, of course it didn’t matter that _he_ was a PhD student working on the single most important piece of work in his entire life and “Call-me-Newt” was studying in a field that barely ever resembled his. No of course it didn’t matter that they fought more than ninety seven percent of the time they spent together. No of course it didn’t bloody matter that Hermann was borderline OCD and could not, would not ‘put up with’ the slob-come-man-come-child that was Newton Geiszler.

“Suck it up, Gottleib,” the fellow in the tweed-jacket said with his lazy blink and his disinterested, monotonous voice. If the phrase ‘a stiff upper lip’ could be personified, this was him. “You could have had worse. Trust me, you will thank me for this one day.” He just needed a pipe, cane and monocle to be a rich uncle in a period drama.

Hermann went through an intense identity crisis in the millisecond that followed this statement. The half of him that respected authority and rules and regulations and treating your elders with respect sighed a resigned sigh and inwardly complained about the unjust nature of society and about how worrisome this affair truly was. The other half of him, (and currently the more convincing half,) wanted to rip the man a new arsehole and shove the shit he was calling advise right back into him.

He did neither.

“But _Sir_ ,” Hermann started. This was ridiculous. He was being treated like a child, like a ruffian.

“Gottlieb,” the man said in turn, starting to sound like he was going to verge onto the scolding side. “You and Geiszler are both incredibly special cases and, after last term’s… ‘accident’, we both know; we _all_ know that it would be safest for all of us if he were to have a respectable person such as yourself to be his-”

“Babysitter?!”

“Friend, Gottlieb, to be his friend. Don’t you wish you had had someone like that in your early years at this establishment?”

The establishment in question was one Cambridge University. Hermann may have been a ‘special case’ for the last couple of years but even he was no match (to his continuous annoyance and, yes, envy,) compared to Newton. Hermann had entered Cambridge and now, at the age of 19, was about to get a doctorate in Mathematical Engineering. Not unremarkable but not quite as amazing as the fact that Newt, a year younger than he, was similarly close to getting a doctorate in some field of Biology, as well as being fresh from MIT and with 5 degrees already in his back pocket.

They’d only known each other for a couple of months but Newt was being transferred from his current accommodation for the seventh time, and this time it was Hermann’s house that was being offered as sacrifice. The current thinking was that they were shoved together because at least when _they_ fought, neither ran away in tears. Sure their arguments were loud, vicious and lengthy but they were intelligent and more often than not ended with peer-reviewed papers in one or two academic journals rather than yet another student dropping out because of ‘onset emotional issues’.

The man… child… youth? -Oh gods it was difficult being a teenager- was insufferable and whiney and a self-proclaimed “rockstar” and wore his shirt with a leather jacket, skinny tie and his baby-face was a permanent grin and no someone needed to come up with a new phrase that meant baby-face because it implied something about Hermann that made him feel old and… and like he was a middle-aged pervert. Because goddamnit yes, he would admit that Newton also possessed good looks as well as incredible intellect and being called an “Old man” at the tender age of 19 by someone with a ‘babyface’ hurt quite a bit, thank you so no, Newt could not stay in his house because this would be _**problematic**_.

And now how to explain this to the nearly-bald Cambridge professor and personal advisor, as well as Head of the Department of Mathematics?

“A friend? No. Not particularly,” Hermann said softly, having probably coloured first in rage, then in various other emotions before cooling to his usual pale, pale white. “Perhaps I would have appreciated an intellectual peer however a _friend_ was and is not something I particularly desire.”

“Semantics, Gottlieb; he is your intellectual peer, and he is to be sharing your housing before the end of the week.”

“With all due respect, sir, I am fairly sure that such an intellect can function more than readily enough without needing tucking in at night and being cooked for-”

“Gottlieb.”

“I did not come to this university to be this, this _child’s_ mother, I demand-”

“Gottlieb.”

Hermann nearly shook with emotions ranging from rage to fear, love to hate. “Sir, this isn’t-”

“GOTTLIEB.” The don’s voice mirrored the harshness of thunder and practically crackled with electricity. “No matter what you may think this is, this is not me asking you to tuck him in and to read him bedtime stories, to mother him like a child.” A wad of paper, neatly clipped together with a bulldog clip was slammed to the table.

“But-”

“We, _I_ am trusting _you_ to make sure that one of the most gifted minds this college, this world, perhaps, will ever see, does not either burn the place down or burn himself out. Every sword needs a whetstone and both you and he suit both roles perfectly so get down off of your damned pride-filled horse and make sure that you do _not_ come home to find that he has had one of his scalpels at his own wrists. Do you understand me?”

Oh.

The swathes of arguments he’d lined up dissipated. He tried saying something, but didn’t know what to say, so he closed his now-aching jaw. He clamped it shut, in fact, to avoid it trembling as he could feel it was beginning to do. He nodded.

“Well… good.” The don pushed the file towards him on the table. “Gottlieb… we’re trusting you with this one. We… we’ve tried to do this conventionally but, as you have probably heard, conventions don’t quite… suit this one. Six times we’ve given him the sturdiest or the kindest or the most _attractive_ student in the hopes of… taming him as it were, so perhaps it’s time to give him to the more rational… to someone who _won’t_ coddle him. Teach him to respect others that aren’t yourself, Gottlieb.”

‘Tame’? They wanted Hermann to ‘tame’ Newt? They wanted to tame him they wanted to pacify him to cut off the rough edges and squeeze him into a box, they wanted to- they wanted to ruin him, tame him, -wait- respect others that weren’t- “what?” Hermann was suddenly incredibly worried. This could imply two things and neither were particularly wanted- Did the don think Newton only respected Hermann? Or the complete opposite? Either way-

“Although I may not seem it, Gottlieb, I am in fact particularly liberal.” The man held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers pointedly. It took Hermann a couple of very silent, old-book-scented seconds to realise. He blanched then coloured and oh god, oh god- “I, I’m afraid, am well past my sell-by-date, as it were. That is why,” the man continued, his voice suddenly thawing by a couple hundred degrees, “this conversation and anything said, or, unsaid,” he raised an eyebrow, “will not leave this room. You understand?”

Hermann gulped. He got very many mixed messages from this conversation and he was feeling utterly lost. He was sure he started this conversation not ten minutes ago with a vague rant about why he couldn’t stand Newton’s presence and now- it had ended here, at the inference that he and Newt were-

“I’m not- we’re not..” he ended lamely, hopelessly, defeatedly.

“Read the folder if you want to, recycle it when you’ve finished with it.”

Hermann took a couple of seconds to consider this, but nodded. He dreaded what was in the folder. What could it even be- he dreaded to think. Medical History? Jail sentences? Academic papers? He suddenly felt dizzy and parched and like he wanted to go back to the simpler life of completing his Thesis and programming weapons for secret government organisations- ugh.

“Any questions?” Hermann shook his head. “Good. I trust you’ll commit to this with the same admirable ethic as you have with every other task you are commissioned with.” Hermann nodded. “You’re a good man, Gottlieb, and I think Geiszer is too.” Another nod, slower this time, and Hermann was dismissed.

-

 

“HERRRRRRRMMMS”

“Geiszler. I see you’ve arrived… promptly.”

“Yeah man!”

Hermann was barely through the door but he was already inwardly crying about the mess.

“You were out so I just kinda dumped my stuff… everywhere but like, i’ll clean it up later so don’t worry about it, yo.”

“Wonderful.” Hermann sighed. Newton’s ‘stuff’ _was_ literally everywhere. There were things whose function he couldn’t even begin to guess at hung, draped, dumped, shoved and crammed in every nook, cranny and corner.

Removing his shoes and putting his keys on a little hook by the door seemed _way_ too intimate with the man- ...child- ...teenager... with Newton watching him, cross-legged a metre away from him. “...why, may I ask, are you sitting on the hallway floor?” He was now taking off his coat and emptying his bag onto the table, separating the items into neat piles that belonged in either the kitchen- milk, bread, eggs, butter- or his bedroom- books, papers, the Newt file he’d still not opened-

Newton was still watching him, staring up at him like a cat pretending he really didn’t care that his master had just come home. “I didn’t wanna go into any rooms in case you like needed to cover things up or like hide some BDSM porn or something.”

Hermann choked, eyes bulging.

Newton grinned. “Yeah man it’s always guys like you who’ve got the kinkiest shit going for you. Gotta judge a book by its cover and you have ‘maths geek on the outside, dom!kinks on the inside’ written aaaaaaaaaaaaaaall over you.”

 _Ignore him, Hermann, he’s just trying to assert some deranged sense of dominance._ He adjusted his tie, straightening his cardigan. “Thank you for your appreciation of my personal space. However it hasn’t escaped my notice that you were perfectly able to unceremoniously _dump_ your belongings in the living room, so why did you feel unable to sit within it?” He walked around the man sitting in the hallway in attempt to get to said room, but was stopped when two arms grabbed his legs and all but tripped him, face-first into the floor. He stumbled, badly, but prevented breaking his nose with the surprisingly good reflexes he’d appreciated having since being born into a family of four children and as a nerd who practically screamed “bully me.”

“Ah- NICE SAVE!”

“NEWT, WHAT ON GOD’S EARTH ARE YOU TRYING TO-”

“Yeah you might not want to go in there for uh… a little bit.”

“Oh god- is anything on fire?! What happened? Are there casualities?”

“What? No, chill dude! I just got bored and tried doing a little experiment but.. uh…” Newton was standing now, pulling the startled Hermann to his feet. “Sorry about the grabbing thing. But yeah no you might want to uh not go in there. Possibly ever again, depending on your tolerance with dead animals, bad smells and a new lack of chairs?”

“...What?” Hermann blinked, righting himself. He then scowled and pulled away from the man, heading into the room.

Oh.

Nope.

Abort mission.

He was hit by a wall of odour almost instantly, the urge to gag strong in his stomach. He clawed desperately at his nose and mouth, clamping them shut and falling back into the hallway before his lunch made a sudden reappearance.

“I did tell you not to go in there…” Newton pulled his stupid mouth to one side of his face, pouting slightly.

“Wh-What is that. What did you do?!”

“Oh, I uh, well okay it’s quite a funny story but by your face I’m going to say that you probably don’t want me to like tell you all of it and you’ll probably murder me in a couple of seconds anyway, plus that frowny face is making me think ‘funny’ isn’t in your dictionary so uh... long story really really short, I might have stolen a skunk but didn’t want to ruin your fancy table so used a chair as a dissection table but like one wasn’t big enough because skunks are actually bigger than you’d imagine them being, right so I had to like sellotape three chairs together but like one of them has a shorter leg, making it kinda rock, slightly and it made me slip and I might possibly have punctured the scent gland."

“You punctured a skunk in my living room.”

“Yeaaaahhh. ...sorry?” Newt winced with one side of his face and grinned with the other. “Sorry man, I was just like really bored and when I’m bored I get these really stupid freaking ideas and it’s kinda half your fault ‘cos like who even keeps wobbly chairs and- okay maybe not 50:50 maybe like 60:30 me you?”

If Hermann wasn’t so exasperated, he might’ve found the expression either hilarious or adorable but no he would not, this was- this was-

Today had been a long day.

“I need a drink.”

Newton looked like he’d been hit. Like he’d been expecting being hit. He flinched. Then it was his turn to be at a loss for words. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish blowing bubbles. Hermann had already put on the items of clothing he’d stripped out of moments ago and was halfway out of the door before Newton could close his gaping mouth with a final snap.

He slipped down to the floor again, sliding down the nearby wall and landing with a small bump. He looked like he didn’t know how to feel; Hermann wasn’t angry? Hermann _was_ angry? More angry than he’d ever seen him? Hermann was going to go drink? Hermann drunk? Hermann wasn’t shouting? Was this good? Bad? Ugly? Hermann wasn’t telling him off? Hermann wasn’t-

“Well? Are you coming or not.”

Newt’s gape returned when he looked up to see that Hermann was holding the door open expectantly. Before he knew what he was doing, he was jumping up, grabbing his leather jacket and bounding out of the door.

 

-

 

“Soooo…” Newt walked (if you could call his erratic, child-like footfalls walking,) with his hands behind his back. He was practically skipping. The manchild was skipping. No no no Hermann don’t look at him you know not to watch him- “Housemates, huh.”

“Apparently.”

“...are you like- allergic to anything?”

“What?”

“I mean like… the last person I had to share with… I kinda nearly killed ‘cos she was like too scared of me to tell me she had a real bad nut allergy and I tried to cook her a meal to make her like me more so I made like chicken satay? Yeah luckily I know how to use an epipen and shit and, y’know I’m hella biology trained so I can do the whole resuscitation/ let’s not have this kid die of inflamed lungs shall we so yeh no she’s okay now but I don’t want to have to go through that again it was kinda traumatising.” He paused for a breath. “...allergies?”

“No. Just hayfever.”

“Oh. Wait no that sounded like I was disappointed I wasn’t disappointed, don’t worry I’m not like going to buy you a shit tonne of flowers and like try to kill you through pollen even though that would be pretty hilarious, not going to lie, it’s just weird knowing that you have hayfever. I mean hey, look, Hermann’s actually a human, not a little tin soldier, heheh.”

Hermann nods slightly, raising an eyebrow. He supposes knowing about allergies would be… practical. “...and yourself? Allergy-wise, that is.”

“Nah man, though I got kinda sensitive skin so some perfumes or like shower gels irritate me but unless you were planning on rubbing all over me with perfume any time soon I guess neither of us’re gonna have a problem.”

“No. Well. No. ...Quite.”

“Oh My God Hermz are you blushing?” Newt skipped a step so as to fall in line in front of Hermann, walking backwards, his toothy-grin smug. Hermann refused to look down, chin set square and strong.

“Yes, well what with my apparent BDSM preferences in pornography, it can’t be too surprising that my imagining ‘rubbing you all over in perfume’ would ‘turn me on’, right.” _Yep. Playing it cool. Definitely._ Hermann was pleased when Newt spluttered to a stop, allowing him to get a couple meters ahead and breathe out a shaky breath. Oh god.

 

“HERMANN, you-you what? You’ve hidden an amazing side of yourself here, man. I’m liking this devil-may-care Hermann, why can’t we have you more often?”

“People say one must break the ice with surprising aspects of oneself, yes? And if we are to be spending significant amounts of time together, I might as well out-play you in an area you assume gives me large amounts of discomfort. However I must assure you, I grew up with three siblings, two of whom were brothers.”

“Sie wissen Sie sind einen dreckskerl, richtig?” _You know you’re a bastard, right?_

“More to the point, how did you get the smell to not come through the door?”

“Was? Oi oi, nicht tun ändern das subjekt, backpfeifengesicht.”

“In English please, Newton.”

“Das stinkt mir! Dösbaddel just play along, man! Sprechen sie deutsch? Sie sind nicht Deutsch? Hallo? Verstehen Sie?” Hermann gave him a side-long eyeroll. Newt pouted and ended up with a quiet “ ...What do you mean?”

“When I came into the hallway, I couldn’t detect any of the pungence of the living room. Explain.”

“Ooooooh yeah no I like researched that for theory three? ...Or was it two, I always get those two mixed up, uh- oh yeah no it was theory two, when I realised that smelling of a biology lab constantly actually kinda sucked in the burgeoning-sexual-awakening kinda way so I set up a like.. door thing which neutralises the most common bad smells… hence-” he wafted his body about for a second, shoving an arm up against Hermann’s nose, “despite being in the blast zone at the time of incident, I’m odour-free.” His hand was swatted away and he grinned. “Yeah… I kinda used it as a replacement for a shower for a while but yeah no it gets rid of smells with a like ninety something percent success rate but it does nothing for germs and dirt and grease build-up so… that was an unpleasant month of my life.”

“I’m sure it was just as unpleasant for your peers too.”

“Wow, fick dich in Knie.” _Go fuck yourself._ “Though I admit, it didn’t really do much for the whole sex thing either…”

“Delightful.”

“If only they’d thought so.”

“Why backpfeifengesicht?”

“Because it’s a funny word.”

“Fishface?”

“I think so? At least that’s why my dad told me.”

“Yes, Dietreich told me it meant the same… ‘Fishface’ and ‘Fuck you in the knee’. One has to wonder where down the line they became real curses.”

“They’re better than dummkopf.”

“True.”

“Hey so, like, how far are we going to walk? I mean we’ve passed pretty much every bar, pub, family restaurant and TESCOs in town?”

“I do _not_ want to be seen on a social outing with _you_ , Newton. At least not in a place where we could be recognised.”

“Huh. And yet we’re suddenly on first-name terms?” Newt grinned, bambi-eyes a-sparkling.

Ah. Dammit, he thought he’d get away with the transition with a little more subtlety.

“If you would prefer to be Geiszler, as I would prefer to remain as Gottlieb, then no, we’re not on first-name terms. However I speculate you’ve not thought of me as anything other than ‘Hermz’ for a while now.”

“And you’d be right there, Herrrrrmzz,” he purred.

“Newton it remains, then.”

“What about Newt?”

“Unthinkable.”

“Aw come on, you screamed it earlier~”

“I did nothing of the sort.” Either the nights were getting hotter or… he loosened his collar slightly.

“Yep, yep you did, you screamed ‘Newt, what on god’s earth are you trying to-’ before you faceplanted into the floor, which I may or may not have been responsible for.”

“Oh. Yes. So I did."

“What, admitting defeat so soon? Was there another time you were screaming my name or somethin- oh my god.”

“What.”

“Were you sailing?”

“What?"

“Were you full mast?”

“...Let’s just end this conversation here shall we.”

“Woah woah no dude you can’t end a conversation like this like that!”

“What would you rather I do?”

“Deny? Fervently?!”

“What and have you quote Shakespeare at me?” At Newt’s blank look, Hermann stopped. “Oh come on, Newton, ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks’? Hamlet? Oh you truly are an uncultured barbarian.”

“Eh??”

“I have lead a long teenage life, Newton, and one thing I have learnt is that you can deny something for as long as you’d like, but no matter how you do it, it always makes people believe you are hiding something. Hence, we terminate this conversation about my hypothetical sexual attraction towards certain biology students, and we forget this ever happened and move on with our lives.”

Before Newt could garble an answer, Hermann turned into a pub he’d spotted from across the road. Newt paused for a moment longer, just to let his brain have a chance to catch up, before sprinting in after the annoyingly long-legged teenager.

 

-

Only-child and social-outcast Newt could probably not be blamed for being a lightweight. He’d spent a lot of his formative years with a piano tuner dad and opera singer mum (see: larder full of expensive wines you don’t let your child even take a sip from,) and his uni life being incredibly underage. Even with fake id, the people around him didn’t like him enough to take him out, or felt way too awkward drinking with babyface Newt lest they be kicked out for influencing a minor. _18_ year old Newt couldn’t pass as 21, let alone 15 year-old Newt. That was almost the number 1 reason for moving to England for doctorate nummer sechs; god bless Britannia and its dodgy legal drinking age. You could literally give 5-16 year olds alcohol as long as you’re on private property, and apparently nobody would give a shit. Pass the age of 18 and there’re no restrictions on the purchase, possession or consumption. Truly a student’s dreamland.

Middle brother and son of a stout German engineering family, Hermann drank Newton under the table. Completely obliterated him. By beer three, Hermann was malleable and Newton was bouncing off of the walls, wanting his new drinking buddy to do the infamous shots he’d heard about-

_Bad, bad, bad idea._

This had been possibly the worst idea Hermann had had in his entire life. At half two in the morning, he was stroking Newt’s back. This was good. This was very good. He was stroking Newt’s back as he puked into a toilet. This was less good. Not very good at all, actually. Also the toilet was spinning and the smell of piss and puke was really not helping and- no, Hermann could control his stomach. He was going to look after Newt and was definitely not going to join him in the bowl. Fresh air was all they needed. Good thing they had a twenty-minute walk to look forwards to. Ahhh alcohol. But also… they exited to the street and… _ahhh alcohol_ … Hermann had never had quite so much bodily contact in his life from someone who wasn’t Dieterich, Karla or Bastien. Newt’s very-rarely-tied-tie was now very much not tied. His shirt buttons were undone one more than usual and his attempt at stubble was-

Hermann took in deep breath of chilling spring air and sobered up considerably. Then came the dawning realisation that he had seriously been considering making a move on an incredibly drunk teenager in the middle of the night in the middle of Cambridge. He shuddered. He nearly dropped Newt, who was hanging off of him, one arm around his shoulder, half-staggering, half being pulled along- he was about to make a move on him _oh god, Hermann this is bad, this is really bad._

-

“Hermann, this is bad, this is really bad-” is what Newt tried to say the next morning. It came out more like “Ughhhmmn nicht gut gghhh nicht reeeeallly bad ohowowow baaaaad.” Hermann pushed him back down onto the bed. He hoped Newt was blind/ hungover enough to realise that this wasn’t his bedroom. And that the bed wasn’t empty.

-

 

“Hey brother, you mind if I ask you something?”

Tendo Choi was introduced to Hermann as a third-year studying for his computer sciences degree, and as someone he was supposed to help mentor. In reality, Tendo was probably intelligent enough to be teaching the course, but lacked the want to act upon that as Hermann and Newt so often displayed. When confronted about why the man didn’t aim for much higher goals, Tendo only shrugged and murmured something about being a follower more than a leader; that he needed someone telling him what to do in order to achieve. They never talked about it again. They did however quickly bond after this, sharing late-night escapades in the computer labs that started one evening when both had rewritten the door code, meaning neither could get out and efficiently dead bolting it shut until morning.

They had the kind of relationship where, when asked, close friends couldn’t tell you whether they were just ‘acquainted’ or were hardcore into one another.

“Of course.” Hermann continued writing his stream of code, but slowed considerably, letting Tendo know he wasn’t unwelcome, that he had his undivided attention...ish.

“You and Geiszler-”

Hermann insta-stopped, hands frozen above the keyboard. Now Tendo really did have his undivided attention. He turned, needing to know what expression Tendo was making. It was perplexed.

“You guys… are you two okay?”

No-not-really-he-dissected-a-skunk-in-my-livingroom-and-yet-I-nearly-made-a-move-on-him-whilst-he-was-considerably-past-the-limit-and-smelled-of-urine-and-stomach-acid- “yes.”

“No offence, brother but you guys have been creepily quiet.”

“Creepily?”

“...The fact that three days ago you couldn’t bare to spend more than three seconds in the same room with each other without insulting/debating/scoffing to the extent that you would nearly pass out from too rapid expulsion of air and not enough intake of it doesn’t creep you out? You guys-” Tendo’s voice had been rising gradually, but he suddenly took note of this and hushed to a whisper again, casually glancing out from where he’d been crouching behind the computers with Hermann in order to peer into the rest of the room. “You know you’ve been sitting in the same room as each other for about two hours right?”

“I was aware.”

“You were ‘aware’? See this is what I’m talking about! The rest of the room’s been literally holding their breath since you came in, if they didn’t scramble at the sight of you in the door. You two were probably the only two not to care about- being near each other.”

“This hardly constitutes as ‘creepy’, Tendo.”

“ _That’s_ what you focus on?! Hermann this isn’t healthy! If you two don’t argue soon, at least one person in this room’s going to explode with anxiety.”

Hermann rolled his eyes, leaning back in the wheely chair with a sigh. He then stood, abruptly, and every eye in the room followed him up. He turned, showing he was addressing all of them.

 

“Newton and I are living together. If we were to argue every time we were in the room together, one of us would have a kitchen knife protruding from our foreheads at this very moment, and neither of us would get anything done so you can cease this ridiculous tendency towards voyeurism and worry about your academic career as opposed to theorising on our relationship. Thank you.” He sat back down, shot a pointed ‘talk to me on pain of death’ at Tendo and continued with his scripting.

The room erupted into silent, frantic looks and the the very fast typing of scores of instant messages. Ahh the wonders of the computer age.

 

-

The next morning he had an invite for the LGBT society’s next pub crawl, a greeting from the student councillor and various pms on facebook from encouraging family members. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, chucking his phone across the room and receiving a satisfying crunch as it hit the wall.

It was barely five a.m. and he knew it was going to be a long day.

He let himself lie in bed for another ten minutes but was soon retrieving the phone. It had no cracks. See, the day was getting better already.

He swam through the various texts and messages on a previously un-messaged phone to get to Tendo’s one-sided conversation.

16:22 [When i said ‘do something’ i didn’t mean confess ur undying love, bro]

16:22 [i mean srsly herm did u rly think that was going to go dwn well?]

16:23 [u told them ur living together nobody lives tofetther man]

16:32 [hey]

16:34 [reply herms or ill think ur dead]

17:44 [u’d better not have turned off ur phone]

21:30 [*sigh*]

23:19 [well at least it won’t be so hard confessing ur undying love to him now ;)]

23:21 [please don’t kill me]

 

Hermann allowed himself a small smile. That was true, if he ever felt the inclination (see:if he ever got pissed enough to) he could very well start the conversation with: “You know that time everyone thought we were in a whirlwind love affair? I vote let’s go for it.”

Snorting, he finished his morning routine (change, brush teeth, eat oatmeal, grab water) and was out the door at six sharp. It was a crisp morning, one where you could smell the petrichor. The flowers were blossoming early this year, it seemed. It was a perfect morning for a run.

He got back after an abnormally long workout and was actually surprised that Newt was awake. He was unsurprisingly gloomy though, and looking as if he could do with a medium-to-large sized vat of coffee. Still panting slightly, he filled the kettle and grabbed breakfasting materials from various cupboards.

“Holy shit. Holy- woah woah woah- Herms- you’ve- nice butt, man.”

Hermann froze, coloured and straightened from where he was removing cereal from a bottom shelf. “Good morning to you, too,” he said, decidedly _not_ looking back in Newt’s direction. He had initially started the morning jogging with his brother when he’d been around 13, using hand-me-down sweatpants to feel cool. But as they’d grown and he’d remained slim whilst his brother, annoyingly, ‘beefed up’, Hermann had been required to buy his own. It had taken a very long time to get used to the nearly-skintight ‘jogging pants’ that ultimately proved the most comfy. “Be thankful they’re not lycra,” he managed to say before the silence became too extended to carry on.

There was a spluttering from the other side of the room, which he took as a sign of his win, freeing him to finish making the hot beverage and place it down in front of the blissfully pink-cheeked Newton, who gulped and managed a thankful nod. “You… you own lycra?”

“Oh of course, Newton. A whole plethora of them.” He sat in the seat directly opposite of the man, raising an incredibly sardonic eyebrow. “Because I lack _all_ of the body-consciousness usually associated with a gangly teenager who wears argyle socks and cotton shirts. No I do not own lycra. Of course I don’t I would never been seen dead in the material.”

“Oh. ...Phew.”

“If you keep asserting your heterosexuality like that, Newton, one day somebody may just believe you.”

“Talking of,” Newt said with an excellent segue, that irked Hermann because dammit that would have flustered him, “what’s all this about us being together? I thought people assumed, correctly the last time I checked, we couldn’t stand one another?”

“Ah.”

“That was possibly the most guilty ‘ah’ i’ve ever heard in my life. Did you confess feelings for me at some point whilst I wasn’t aware?”

“...I think people may have interpreted the… announcement in the computer lab as one of… mutual… as- uhm, as one of love.”

“Huh. ...Nobody thought like that when I lived with the other people.”

“No, but I highly doubt your living arrangements with them came after significant amounts of time of precursor shouting in varying degrees of insult to retaliation ratio.”

“...that’s… also true. Is this the longest we’ve gone without shouting?”

“Possibly.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re having a not-so-secret love affair?”

“Hermann, can you just be serious for once-”

There was an earth-shattering silence.

“Oh my god- I sound like you.”

Hermann blinked, coffee mug halfway to his mouth. “...I…”

“Hermann we’ve like- we’ve _affected_ each other.”

“...” Hermann carefully placed his mug back on the counter, staring at the still-steaming, ink black liquid. “...by jove,” he whispered. “I think you may- no, no no of course not. There’s no logic behind it. Why now? After we’ve fought for so long? Why not when we had to share lab spaces together?”

“...we- uh well, I don’t know about you dude but- I mean- I don’t solve things in civilised tones, man. And not with you. Especially not with you.”

“Have you been- doing anything different?”

“No?”

“...no you have. You’ve been tiptoeing around me.”

“WHAT, No-”

“You’ve been- you’ve been being polite to me.”

“Now that’s just rude-”

“You have. You’ve- it’s been days and you’ve yet to dissect anything on the table, you’ve cleaned your area, you’ve tidied the bathroom after your use of it… you’ve been being- considerate.” Hermann narrowed his eyes. His tone slowed considerably, worry and suspiciousness showing in equal measure. “Why have you been being considerate to me, Newton.”

“I-” Newt’s eyebrows furrowed, leaning back as Hermann straightened. “No reason, man, do I have to have a reason to be _nice_ to you?”

“Yes, apparently.”

“Well I don’t, okay? I just- I don’t. Now if you’ll excuse me i’ve got rotting corpses to dissect and bathrooms to trash.” Newt pushed back his chair, the legs scraping against the floor with a harsh squeal. He grabbed his box of chocolate-flavoured-chocolate-filled cereal, his coffee and two of the three newspapers that they shared and retreated to his room with a loud bang of the door. A couple of seconds later, louder-than-usual music made the house shudder.

-

The rumours died out when the arguments started up again. The universe sighed a collective sigh of relief.

Newt and Hermann did their best to avoid each other at home as much as possible.

-

 

Hermann tightened the final screw of his third check. Everything was in its proper place. He placed the screwdriver in its allocated space in the toolbox, closed the lid and hefted the blue-metal box into its cupboard. He cracked his back, feeling more and more like an old man every day. His movements were purposely slow today… everything was to prolong this moment.

This was his final moment. This was when he would find out if months of planning was going to succeed. He sat at his bank of computers and ran the numbers again, checking them for what could possibly be the last time after nearly a whole year of creating, theorising, inputting, running, building-

This was it.

This was going to be the day.

He spun his wheely-chair into the centre of the room, where the large machine lay in wait. Everything was in check. Everything was in place. Everything was- there was nothing stopping him now. This was an idea he’d had since he was a child. Since he’d watched Digimon. Since he’d been attracted to robots and to AI and to computers-

He gulped and pulled the helmet over his head. Attached the spine-shaped instrument to his back. He was going to create a link with a computer. He was going to merge his mind with technology. He was going to perfect Artificial intelligence. He was going to… to… drift within the computer world. Yes, that was it, it would be ‘Drifting’. He clenched his eyes shut, his hand hovering over the on switch. He bit his lip. Maybe a countdown would help. 3… 2… 1……

Hermann sighed. Opened his eyes again. He was in his bedroom. The walls were pastel green and bare of ornaments other than bookshelves. A chalkboard took up one wall, his bed another and his desk the third. On said desk were blueprints, equations and every instrument of precision you could imagine. He’d been working so constantly through the day he only now realised that the sun had set and he should have turned to light on to prevent him going as blind as Newton and needing glasses somewhere down the line.

Hermann rubbed his eyes and shrunk into his seat. It wasn’t that he was a coward but… he removed the headpiece, slinking to the door. He unlocked the deadbolt (recently installed in order to a) prevent awkward walk-in situations and b) to prevent Newton finding the drift machine and either destroying or using it.) There. Now, if Hermann were to die/fall into a coma/be stuck in a drift shift impossible to leave without outside influence, Newt would have easy access to him.

He bit his lip and stared at the piece of plain paper he’d left, just in case, on his desk. It wouldn’t hurt to write some instructions down… no this wasn’t a will, it was- insurance.

 _Right_. This was a logical step. He flopped back into the chair and slid the helmet back on. _Right right right._ 3… 2… 1…

-

“HERMANN FOR THE LAST TIME I SWEAR TO ALL THIS IS HIGH AND MIGHTY ON THIS PLANET IF YOU LEAVE YOUR CHALKY ASS MATHEMATICAL TEXTBOOKS IN THE TOILET AGAIN I WILL- woah woah woah woah what’s up with the leg dude?” Newt dropped his tablet on the table and pushed up his glasses. “That is a serious limp, man.”

“I slipped. Must have strained it whilst jogging. It’ll heal.”

“Slipped? Like outside? Do you want me to check it for fractures for you?”

Hermann was about to deny but… he didn’t really fancy a trip to the doctor’s. He… he had developed a rather irrational fear of going to the doctor’s after last night, actually. “If- if that would be okay?”

“Yeah totally man! Uhhhhh-” Newt swept the mountain of his laundry from the sofa and directed Hermann towards it. “Yo you look real pale, dude, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Mm. I had a couple of nosebleeds. Yesterday wasn’t really my day.”

“Aw man, that’s rough. Are the nosebleeds like a regular thing or?”

“No, just one-off. Stress-related, I presume.”

“...yeah, probably. Okay, uh, either you’ve gotta roll up your trouser leg or you’ve gotta take them off?” Newt was shot with Hermann’s most withering look. “Okay, we’ll make do with rolling, shall we? Awesome.”

Hermann might have blushed at the make-do-doctor’s touch if it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t feel his leg and and also his leg was in excruciating pain in equal parts. Newt’s fingers pressed into joints, he rubbed areas of bone, tested muscle… watching for Hermann’s reactions to each.

Both of them very quickly knew that something was very, very wrong when neither gave the reactions they desired.

“Hermann, I need you to tell me if you can feel this.” Newt’s fingers blanched in colour, indicating to Hermann that he was pinching the area, hard. He wanted to lie, he wanted to exaggerate, he wanted to-

He wasn’t going to cry-

These weren’t tears-

He shook his head.

“And this-” no sooner had Newt touched the area, Hermann had recoiled into himself, trying his utmost not to whimper like the pathetic, self-mutilating child he was. Newt’s attention had primarily been at the ankle-area of his leg, assuming that the sprain was just a painful twist but… as the reactions kept repeating, both boys found that the injury went well past Hermann’s hip. “Hermann, I need you to tell me what you did so that I can treat it properly okay?” Newt pressed an area around Hermann’s hip joint. He passed out.

-

 

Newt crumbles the white pill into the bottom of the glass when Hermann goes to use the bathroom. He’s been ruminating whether or not he was actually going to do it and, three beers in, a mildly embarrassing giggling fit, two falls off of the barstool and a near-but-not-near-enough kiss, he’d decided; why not. It wouldn’t just take Hermann down a peg in “I can drink you under the table” territory, but… maybe he’d loosen up slightly. Maybe he’d actually tell him what really happened to his leg instead of ignoring the question at all possible turns. He swirled the pint with a small smile. This was for fun. This was being helpful. This wasn’t malicious. Right.

“So I was thinking,” Newt said totally not eyeing the glass suspiciously at all, “you ever done any drugs?”

Hermann frowned as he sat, instinctively looking around him despite knowing it was way too crowded for anyone to have overheard. They practically had to be touching cheeks to hear each other, let alone the guys next to them. _Why such a blunt question? Why now? I smell something way too fishy._ “My brother and I had a weekend trip to Amsterdam once. Never again.”

“Oooooh what happened!”

Hermann downed what was left of his beer and grimaced. “Dietrich had to bail me from jail the next morning after I had turned somebody’s car into a semi-automated weapon.”

“You-”

“I was responsible for thousands of pounds worth of damage, though luckily nobody was killed.”

“No way-”

“I went, and I quote, ‘All transformers on that shit.’”

“Oh my god.”

“Yes, quiet. And why the sudden and alarming interest in my drug habits? Was it an invitation or the start of another one of your ‘I almost killed my last housemate’ anecdotes?”

“...I have a sudden feeling like it may possibly be both…”

“...Is- is the room spinning for you or is it just-”

-

 

Newt really wasn’t trying to be mean or spiteful. He was actually trying to be nice. He- he would never say it to his face, but he respected Hermann, perhaps looked up to him. Hermann’s being at Cambridge was the reason Newt was at Cambridge. It was no coincidence that, despite being a Bio student, every spare minute Newt didn’t spend in a lab he was supposed to be in was spent in the mathematics department, or the computer labs.

It was almost stalking.

Almost.

Newt had, at first, been disappointed by what he found when he’d moved to England. H.Gottlieb was not entirely the man he’d been expecting. He’d seen photos, of course, but everyone’s photos were shit, right? Newt’s own ID card showed him with neatly combed hair and, yes, that was the tell-tale glimmer of braces. So imagine the surprise that Hermann… Hermann actually looked every inch the ghostly-complexioned teen nerd his google image results showed him to be.

However, Newt’s worried had almost instantly been cured when he found he could argue… and be argued with. This was a rare phenomenon for Newt. His parents had been the ultra-encouraging sort, and had definitely given up trying to understand his garbled scientific jibberish about a decade ago. Anyone else he’d tried to have decent conversation with either treated him like a child that needed a softening of the voice, or like an alien whose intellect wasn’t to be debated.

Hermann did neither. Their constant bickering just… it made his heart pound. If that pounding was caused by aggravation, excitement or something else, he couldn’t care less. The only other time he felt like this was when he was on stage, but unless nerdrock came into style sometime soon and he managed to convince some unwilling people into a band, this was the only relief he was going to get.

So, the chance at living with the most interesting creature he’d met in his life? Wonderful.

The reality? Not quite so wonderful.

10 minutes in and he’d already mutilated a skunk in the livingroom; was it any wonder he was tiptoeing around?

And then-

Then he’d woken up in Hermann’s bed with no recollection of getting there.

He’d panicked. Ran straight to his room. Checked his body for any sign of- well... anything. His clothes were still on, which was a good sign, and there was no indication that they’d done anything-

So yeah. Double tiptoeing because what if he’d just sleepwalked into Hermann’s room? What if, whilst drunk, he’d confessed his stalkery tendencies? What if, by making Hermann angry, by provoking him into one of their arguments, Hermann would reveal something very very very not good about that night?

It may have taken a couple of months to realise but if you watched him, really watched him instead of dismissing him as he’d, and pretty much everyone else had readily done before, Hermann was… he had a jawline that could cut diamonds. A genuine smile that could melt puppies. And, well, his reply to Newt’s jokey “Do you even lift, bro” was:

“I find it occasionally necessary to do weight training so as to not injure myself when transporting or fixing heavy machinery such as I do on occasion when helping my father.”

And to top it all off, morning runs?

Newt had seen Hermann one morning with slicked back hair, sunglasses and a shirt that was stuck to his chest, the sun glinting _majestically_ off of cheekbones. True, the drab Hermann of usual clothing and posture wasn’t anything to look at but damn. Damn him if in those moments he didn’t look like a rockstar. Damn him if he didn’t look like a 20s mafia hitman. Damn him, damn him to hell because once he’d noticed it was _really_ hard not to remember it. Constantly.

And he’d woken up in Hermann’s room.

And Hermann was being nice to him.

And Hermann was insinuating all kinds of things.

Did insinuation mean-

Could it mean-

Could he-

-

 

Hermann was sitting in a trolley.

He wasn’t sure why he was sitting in a trolley, but it was funny, so he laughed. Newt was also laughing, above his head. From this angle, he must’ve looked ridiculous; squidged into the deep metal basket on wheels, feet poking out. It was ridiculous. It was also funny. He laughed. Newt laughed.

Newt was pivoting on the spot, wheeling Hermann around in a huge circle. It made him feel sick. He was laughing. It was fun. His leg didn’t hurt. This was great. He had vague memories of coming out of a dingy hurty place very recently.

The thought was in and out of his mind like the food in his stomach.

He was still giggling when they crashed.

He was still giggling when they came out of the A&E three hours later.

He wasn’t giggling when he crashed into his bed.

-

_Please be sharpie please be sharpie please be-_

Hermann’s bedroom door opened.

Hermann jumped, dropping the t-shirt he’d had lifted up to his chest.

Newt’s jaw opened slightly.

“This isn’t-”

“You too?”

Hermann frowned. “Me too?”

Newt unbuttoned his shirt. There was a bluey-green shape, surrounded by bright-red skin. Hermann wouldn’t squint. His eyes _weren’t_ bad. He _didn’t_ need glasses. He nodded as if he knew what was inked on Newt’s chest.

_Please tell me it’s sharpie-_

“Dude I showed you mine you have to show me yours.” _Definitely not an elaborate excuse to get Hermann to take his shirt off-_

Hermann ruefully did as he was commanded.

“Annnnnnnnd we have matching tattoos.”

“...How much did I drink last night?”

“...” Newt paused to consider Hermann for a second before he took a couple of steps forward, unblurring the image for Hermann. “...quite a bit.”

Hermann rolled his eyes back into his head, his head in turn falling back against the chair he was sitting in. He sighed and made other disgruntled sounds. “This is ridiculous.”

“Look man I’m sorry this was totally my fault and-” Watching Hermann react… dramatically- like, really theatrically dramatically was- this was scary. Hermann was almost performing this.

“Don’t be stupid. There are laws against forceful tattooing of people, I obviously agreed to it, no matter how drunk I was.”

“Yeah but-” _I drugged you, man. I spiked your drink._

“Furthermore it’s not… unattractive.”

“I’m assuming you mean-”

“No Newton I’m referring to the word ‘Schwanzlutscher’ written across my heart, which I am praying is sharpie even if the… rather artfully designed Godzilla is not.”

“Pfft.”

“Newton Geiszler I swear to all that is holy in this world I will forgive you for all crimes against me, past and present, if you _please_ tell me whether the word ‘Dicklicker’ is written across my chest permanently.”

“...is that a promise? Like, you’ll actually forgive me?”

Hermann frowned, but at this moment nothing could be worse that the horror of- being branded. Not only being branded but having branded himself. Whilst in the company of Newton, who was _definitely_ aware of what had happened last night. “Yes.”

Newt collected himself for a second, and- “Sorry man, I couldn’t resist.” He had three things in his pocket right now. A plastic bag containing 2 pills. A letter. A pen.

He pulled out the pen.

“It’s sharpie.” He grinned. He didn’t feel the grin, even when Hermann visibly melted into the chair.

“Oh thank heavens.”

“You’re not mad about Godzilla?”

“...I doubt very much whether many people will see it, Newton. At least it isn’t on my forehead. _That_ I would have had a harder time forgiving.” He smiled, or as much as he could in the situation. “Is yours- wait- what happened to your arm?!”

Newt burst into a surprised laugh. “You only _just_ notice?” He waved his arm about. His arm and the fresh white cast that adorned it. “Or should that be ‘remember’... man you really were off your head.”

The recollection of clean white hallways and concerned faces hit Hermann in the gut. “...we went to hospital.”

“Yup. Thankfully I’d already changed your medical history to say your limp was a genetic thing.”

“...’thankfully’?”

“Dude you can barely remember the night you were so intoxicated. They thought you might’ve broken your leg when I broke my arm but I told ‘em it was an existing thing. I- I didn’t think you wanted to let anyone know about… it.”

“...yes.” Hermann closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “Yes, no, yes thank you, that was incredibly considerate of you, Newton. Thank you.”

“....it’s cool man, least I could do.”

“And is your arm-”

“Dude seriously I’ve broken this arm more times than I can count, it’ll be healed in like 6 weeks.”

Hermann sighed, letting himself relax more.

 _This really isn’t the time, Newt, choose a different time, not now, not now-_ “When you uhm-” Damn it. “When you want to… if you want to, remember that I’m just- I’m just down the hall if you ever want to tell me anything. I promise I can actually keep my mouth shut when it comes to secrets.”

Hermann’s heart started pulling, wanting desperately to tell someone- to tell anyone, to tell- he wanted to tell Newton. He really wanted to tell Newton. His eyes went from the man to the heap of metal and cables lying in wait in the corner of the room. Then his eyes went to his leg, then to Newt’s cast. Recklessness. Stupidity- Newt would want to try. To experiment.

No. Some things were best kept to themselves. Yes. This would be something nobody could know. “Thank you, Newton.”

“That’s-”

“May I perhaps add on to my selfish tendencies and request something of you?”

Newt’s eyes widened when, barely a seconds after nodding, he was pulled forwards by his belt, till he was standing between Hermann’s knees. Hermann rested his forehead on the front of Newt’s shirt, almost directly on his belly button. He wrapped his hands around the small of his back.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “...but I can’t.”

Newt flailed a bit, really not having any idea what the fuck was happening and trying not to enjoy it too much because Hermann’s voice just cracked and he was pretty sure he was crying and he couldn’t deal with crying oh god- “it’s cool man i’m not going anywhere you’ve got like all the time in the world to cry about how awesome your godzilla tatt is. Our Godzilla tatts. Jeez, Herm, we have matching tattoos, you don’t have to apologize for not telling me something you don’t want to tell me i’m not pressuring you i’m just i’m just here okay? I’m here for you. I’m here okay?” At this point he started patting Hermann’s head, which was possibly the single strangest thing he’d ever done in his entire goddamn life.

They stayed like this for a couple of minutes, Hermann very much not crying, and Newt very much not stroking his hair and shhing him. Newt was nearly nodding off when he felt something very peculiar- “hey hEY HEY HERMANN WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THIS IS A HUG NOT A BUM PAT SITUAT-oohhh oh okay yeah no sure that’s cool you can yep you’re christening the cast.” Hermann had apparently finished his crying session and, to take back the situation, he had to balance the world by doing something dickish. Like patting down all of Newt’s pockets in order to locate the sharpie waved at him earlier. And then to turn him around by the belt and sit him in his lap.

“...”

Hermann took the silence as a good sign. He continued.

Newt watched as careful letters appeared on his arm, smiling slightly.

He was less humorous when he read them. “Lutsch meine Eier.”

Hermann smiled into his shoulder, having at some point wiped away the tears, leaving only his red-rimmed eyes as evidence. Something was digging into his leg, so he moved it, removed it.

“‘Lick my balls’? Du spinnst wohl? Seriously Hermann. At least when _I_ wrote it, it was on your chest! Nobody’ll be able to see you chest! Everyone’ll ask me what that says.”

“And you can tell them it’s a glorified penis that some stinkstiefel doodled on you whilst you were getting over the worst hangover of your life.”

“They’ll recognise your handwriting.”

“Not my handwriting.” Hermann continued to rest his chin on Newt’s shoulder. He closed his eyes. His heart hurt.

“You’re a sly fucker aren’t you.”

“More so than you, at least.” Hermann sighed. He tucked the small bag into his pocket. _Of course._ He- he was angry. He didn’t want to ruin anything. But this wasn’t something he could ignore. ‘Trust issues’. Trust. He- _why, why, why_ \- he couldn’t just- why couldn’t things just-

“You’re uhm. Correct me if I’m wrong but uh this lap thing, it’s- I mean- shouldn’t it be hurting? Like a lot? What with the leg thing and all-”

“I like you, Newton.”

“Oh.” _Oh. Oh god. This was happening now? Now?? Oh. Oh y-_ “Yes. I mean. I do too. Like you. Not me. Though I do like me too-”

“You spiked my drink.”

“...oh.”

“Trust is something I take incredibly seriously, Newton.”

“...yeah.”

Hermann breathed Newt in.

He breathed him out.

“You broke my trust.”

“...yeah.”

“Can you explain your reasoning?”

“I don’t... I don’t think it would help.”

“Was it about the leg?”

“Pa- partly, yes.” Newt tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Partly because of the liking thing.”

Hermann really didn’t know what to say. For the first time in his life he didn’t know what he wanted. He would like to run off into the sunset, holding hands. He would like to trust the person he admired and adored. He- he wanted Newt not to have drugged him. Mislead him. Mistreated him.

‘ _Hermann has trust issues-’_

“I’m going to guess that the get-out-of-jail-free card… isn’t going to count.”

‘ _Hermann? Father what did you-’_

“No. I think not. Though-”

‘ _-Hermann has trust issues’_

“Though?”

There’s so much hope in the small voice Hermann nearly cracks. He presses his hand against his face. It’s cold. He’s always had cold fingers. Cold fingers worked beautifully on bruising skin. On bruising hearts. He wonders what it would be like to hold Newt’s hand- does Newt have cold hands? Are his hands warm? He imagines they’re warm, another opposite to add to the growing list-

His next breath is shuddery, but he has decided.

“I have a lecture to attend.”

-

 

Hermann spends the day actively avoiding Newt. Questions about Newt. Things that remind him of Newt. People who remind him of Newt. Everything. He doesn’t go the lecture. He goes to bed. He stays in bed. He thinks. He sleeps. He thinks of Newt.

-

Newt knocks on Hermann’s door only twice during Hermann’s 4-day shut in. The first is on the evening of the first day. He leaves a cheese toastie outside his door. It’s still there in the morning. The second time he leaves food, he doesn’t knock. He just stands. He rests his forehead against the door. He waits. He leaves the sandwich on the floor. This time, when he goes to check, the plate has been cleared away. He hopes this means Hermann ate. He leaves food out 3 times a day for 3 days, but the food is always there when he comes back. He doesn’t see Hermann leave the house, though his lecturers inform him he has been attending, according to the register. He wonders when Hermann started faking his attendance. Probably when Newton drugged him against his will slash knowledge.

The second time he knocks, he waits for a couple of minutes, but hears nothing in reply.

“Yo? Hermann? You still in there? Oh wait huh I hadn’t considered that you might not actually be in there huh you could literally have gone anywhere you could actually be in Hong Kong or something right now and I’d be talking to a door and leaving food in front of an empty room, wow that’s actually pretty sad isn’t it. Shit. Now I want to come in but at the same time no because you’re probably still in there knowing you which is worse because you haven’t eaten in like 3 days man and I’m worried okay I’m-” he pauses. His voice wobbles. He clears his throat. “I’m so sorry, Hermann. I need to know if you’re still around okay? I don’t- I can’t open this door because i’m scared of what I’m going to find if I open it and- I found a letter in your room the other day. On that day. When I was in your room- I- it had my name on it and I’m sorry I shouldn’t have taken it but seriously who even writes letters anymore unless it’s- well it’s either a love letter or- and- I just hoped it would be a…” deep breaths- “I just hoped it would be a love letter because you know me ever the romantic so in love with myself that I steal other people’s shit because I think it might be a letter detailing how you love my smile or my voice or my fucking freckles or some shitty poem or something but it wasn’t Hermann and I don’t want to open this door so please, please please man please just don’t be unconscious on the floor right now, please okay I need, I _really_ need you not to be lying de- d-”

-

When Newt finds Hermann, bloody nosed and unconscious on the floor of their house, his heart and stomach drop a thousand miles.

Hermann had drifted again.

 

Again, _again-_ even after the first time he’d done so he’d practically lost the use of one leg.

Before he knew it, he was cradling Hermann in his lap, shaking the man conscious. He’d removed the instrument attached to Hermann’s head, as was instructed to him in the… in the letter.

This was what it was warning him about.

Hermann hadn’t expected to survive the _last_ time he’d done this…this ‘drifting’ thing.

He hadn’t expected to live.

He’d written a suici- no- no it wasn’t suicide. He was a scientist. This was an experiment. He’d written a- hypothesis. A theory. He’d written-

-

 

They don’t talk for 5 years.

 

-

 

When Hermann’s 24, the Kaiju break through the Pacific.They’re communicating within minutes of it happening. Both of them had been waiting for something like this. Something to push them together. They talk about drifting. About fighting back.

 

2 Years more and the Jaeger programme is up and running.

 

-

 

When Newton sees Hermann for the first time in the flesh (he’d watched any podcast or tedtalk or live lecture he could because yes he’s still a creepy stalker,) since the day he’d dropped out of Cambridge, he’s nearly sick. The limp is so much worse. So much obviously worse it’s painful to just watch. It’s painful to- it must hurt so much. Newton had been checking Hermann’s medical records monthly for the last half a decade. Hermann had not once been to the doctor’s, not for a check-up, not for a scan not for- anything. Not even for a cold. No painkillers. No drugs.

No drugs.

Hermann hadn’t been taking drugs.

He didn’t trust doctors giving him drugs.

Newton wanted to be sick.

Hermann watched Newton watch him. Watched him limp, watch him stagger. Watch him suffer. Hermann wouldn’t tell him how bad it had been getting. How he refused to take painkillers. He would lie. He would pretend. He couldn’t harm Newton any more than he already had. He pretending-to-be-subtly took out a small orange bottle of pills. He’d picked them up somewhere along the line; perhaps the second time he went to visit his mother. She wanted to know what had happened. He told her, and anyone who asked, he’d fallen down the stairs. Landed wrong. That it was a spine thing, not a bone-break thing. He was only kind-of lying. He _had_ fallen down the stairs, but it had been _because_ of the problem not the cause of it.

Newt stared at the orange bottle. The white pills. The throat that swallowed them. He watched the bottle disappear back into a tweed-lined pocket.

He turned around as casually as he could.

His tears dripped into the 10% Industrial Methylated Spirits solution. He dripped into the Kaiju-tank. He brought the cleanest labcoat to his face, soaking it. He wouldn’t turn around.

He listened as the footstep-cane tap-thud combo made its way to the other side of the room. Then the instantly recognisable clack of chalk to blackboard.

_Fuck._

He wasn’t sobbing, this was manly tears. Many manly tears wracking his body like a bear. Yeah. This was like a bear attack. A kaiju attack. Manly manly tears. Like a jaeger. Jaeger sobbing. Manly sobbing. Sobbing. Okay he was sobbing. Kind of a lot. Kind of loud. Loud enough to not hear the clack give way to tap-thud-tap-

Hug.

-

 

They started arguing again. The universe sighed a collective sigh of relief.

 

-

 

When Hermann came into the lab one morning, Newt was sitting on top of his desk, back to him, apparently staring at the wall of equations.

“I would very much appreciate if you removed your posterior from my workspace, Dr. Geiszer.”

“Mornin’ to you too, Hermz.”

“ _Dr. Gottlieb_ whilst we are at work, Geiszler.”

“Dude like literally everyone knows we’re a thing after the Mako inciden-”

“It is still workplace etiquette, _Doctor_ ,” Hermann cut in, definitely not reddening at the remembrance of the very public, very loud out-ing. “No matter what incidents regarding a drunken Miss Mori are involved.” He swatted the man-child (god it had been seven years and he was still referring to him as a man-child, this really needed to change-) as he approached, then suavely segued from swat to hair-ruffle. He stood behind Newt, trying to ascertain what he was looking at so intently.

“Well then _Dr. Gottlieb.”_ He said, trying to sound as faux-British-don as he could, “I guess it’s also not workplace etiquette to hand you these-” he leant back against Hermann and all but shoved a bouquet of flowers in his face.

“Wha-”

“Before you scoff, it’s not a like romantic gesture or anythi-okay maybe it’s kinda romantic but it’s- there’s a point to this okay, just hear me out. And like, smell them too-”

Hermann frowned but nodded, taking the flowers. They were pure-white narcissus, their bells dainty and facing downwards. Aptly named after the young man who fell in love with his reflection. They also meant-

“‘Stay as sweet as you are’, yes, I know, sue me I was a teenager and I thought it was poetic how they could symbolise your sweetness and my overwhelming ego issues okay.”

“Teenager?”

“Yeha okay I’m getting to that bit okay calm your eyebrows I swear one of these days you’ll raise and lower them so much they just fall off- and I said sm _ell them goddamit!_ ”

“Any time before the inevitable Kaiju apocalypse, Newton.” He smelled them. He smelled them? He paused. He could smell them. They were- they smelt divine. Sweet, honey-like-

Newt pouted, but it didn’t last long because- “HA YOU CALLED ME NEWTON IN THE WORKPLACE HA-!” He was silenced by a whack on the head.

Newton grinned. “I cloned you synthetically modified, pollenless-ish-kinda flowers because of your hay fever. Happy-I-think-it’s-tuesday-and-also-we-haven’t-been-turned-into-alien-fodder-yet!”

“How did you know I had hay fever?”

“...I think I just asked you one time. Probably. I was potentially not trying to kill you with allergy stuff. Yeah, I think that was it. And then yeah. The coolest part is that I designed them so that they can still be eco-friendly and stuff because the whole cloning living things thing never goes well once you take out natural reproduction so yeah they can still carry on with the pollen-to-stigma-sex thing it’s just I modified the pollen so that it’s better for humans and yeah- that’s doctorate nummer sieben when y’know I have time to write it up and shit, possibly after I do the whole saving the world from aliens things- hum do you think the world is more interested in human-friendly pollen or the ridding of human-unfriendly aliens this is an incredible question of anthropology- I need to send around a questionnaire like stat-”

Hermann carefully laid down the flowers, arranging them so as to not damage any of the delicate, snowy white petals. Doing this to the best of his ability, his attentions returned to the still rambling Newt.

He pulled the stubbly chin up to his with hands on either side of his mouth and kissed him.

“Thaaaaaaaat was totally _not_ workplace etiquette, Dr. Gottlieb.”

“I have a profound dislike for you Newton, I hope you realise this.”

Newton grinned and kissed him on his adam’s apple. “‘Profound dislike’? At this rate, one day you might even lower yourself to call me your housemate!”

“Yes, well, ‘housemates’ was always a… tenuous term.”

“You suck, you know that?”

“Yes well, maybe later.”

 

_Shit._

 

 

 


End file.
